Birds Of A Feather
by demondreaming
Summary: If you're a raven then she's a macaw, all loud noises and bright colours. But everyone likes a parrot better than a crow. Jade/Tori. PWP.


**Disclaimer: Victorious is rather rightly not mine. I'm proud of that.**

Something about Tori just ruffles your feathers. If you're a raven then she's a macaw, all loud noises and bright colours. But everyone likes a parrot better than a crow; at least you can teach Tori tricks. If you could only teach her how to play dead. You grin at the thought, watching her lazily as you sit back in class, slumped down in your chair, Beck's arm around you. Sikowitz gesticulates wildly, coconut milk spilling over his shirt with his movements, other hand twisting in his hair, fluffing it out. Ever since she came here, she's rubbed you the wrong way. It's just something about her... at first it was the way she acted around Beck, all gooey eyes and lingering touches. And then it was how nice she was, how kind. You've tried to pass her off as another Cat; sweet, but dumb as a bag of bricks. But you know Tori's smart; and everytime you've tried to demean her, to set her some impossible task, she passes. She always ends up saving your butt at the end of the day, and she doesn't even gloat about it. You're running out of reasons why she makes you uncomfortable. They're strips of paper that are blowing away, unveiling the real reason you've buried underneath. The one you've suppressed. The one that made itself clear, surfacing like the answer in a Magic Eight Ball, and you shook it and shook it, but it always read the same.

You want her.

And you don't mean in the _I-want-to-destroy-her_ sort of way. Ever since you saw her at the Showcase, pulling that number out of her ass and saving her sister, you've wanted her. The performance that greased the wheels into Hollywood Arts for her. The one that brought her into your life, so quick and so fast. One minute she was sweating underneath the bright lights, voice soaring, body moving, and the next she was in front of you, hands on Beck, and you'd found yourself wishing those hands were on you. You shook those thoughts away, turned them into hate, and you're so practised at doing that, at forcing your feelings down and hiding behind your anger. You'd humiliated her, made her as pitiful as you could, as if to show she couldn't control you; that if you felt anything for her, you wouldn't be able to do this stuff to her. It's the equivalent of a five year old teasing the girl he likes, because girls are gross and icky, and he'd never admit that they weren't. It was fun at first, having that power, having that control, smirking in the way of your heart, but Tori just wore it, just accepted it. Still called you her friend, even if it was usually with a little grimace at the end. She still did anything you asked, and she did it with a smile. All those little humiliations, all those little insults grew hollow, and now your heart was the one smirking.

When she'd starting having those problems with Ryder, you were surprised at how happy it'd made you. How much you'd relished it, and maybe that's why Beck punished you, gave you the time-out, because it wasn't venom in your voice that he heard, it was glee. You didn't want her to be dating someone, to be happy. You wanted her single, and you didn't want to explain why to yourself. You settled for wanting her to suffer, wanting her to be miserable, even though you know she's perfectly happy alone. You just didn't want to be jealous anymore.

It's not that you want to date her. You love Beck, you do. She just... _does _something to you, something raw and physical. Like she's a nail and your hips are magnets, pulling towards her. There's an irresistible attraction, and maybe the old adage is true; opposites attract. But she's more like you than you care to admit, and maybe it's just narcissism at heart; maybe you're just seeing yourself in her, in the faintest shades. You just want to darken that blush, to bring her blood to the surface and see if it's the same colour as your own. To see if she really is a raven; she's just painted her feathers and changed her song. To show her that she's not better than you, that she's the same. So you can admit to yourself that she _isn't_ better, that she's not, because you feel like she is. That's why she scares you when she's around Beck; you're just waiting for him to see how much better she is, how well they fit together, how much nicer, and sweeter, and more compatible she is. People shun the raven. They always pick the parrot.

You push it away every time you see her; that urge to just shove her against the wall, to make her say your name in a voice threaded with lust, but it's invading your mind more and more. It thrums through your body even when you're with Beck now, and if you narrow your eyes, blur them until all you see is his skin, you can almost pretend it's hers, that it's Tori sweating against you, and you've had to bite your lip to stop her name coming out more than once.

The bell chimes and you tear your eyes away from her, shrugging Beck's arm off your shoulder. It's just physical, that's all. You admit that she's hot... how could you not? She's got curves that make you drool, that make your fingers itch to touch, to violate. You hate her for making you feel this way, you hate that she doesn't even realise what she does to you, that she doesn't feel how your eyes linger. She doesn't even notice how your voice changes, how it drops and drawls and takes on a lilting tone. Anything to get a reaction from her, anything to bring that look of outrage to her face, to see her hands curl into fists. Anything to prove she's like you. But she always preens her feathers back into place, lets her fists unclench, her face smooths out and slathers a smile across it. That frustrates you to no end; it only makes you want her more. You just want to see her break, to see the bone beneath her flesh, and find out if it's as rotten as your own.

You pick at your lunch; a salad, prodding a limp leaf with your plastic fork. Rabbit food. You'd much rather the rabbit. Everybody's talking about their day, and you don't know why. Today's the same as yesterday, what could they possibly have to talk about that's different? You tune it out for the most part, you've got bigger things to think about, and you've got no interest in whether Robbie's switched to a new body wash, or if Andre got a blister from his new guitar strings. Tori's voice is the only one you can't ignore; it just grates it's way into your ears no matter how hard you try to plug them up. She flies over the fences you build to keep her out, and you're sure she doesn't even notice how hard you're trying not to notice her. If you could just shut her up, just for a moment.

You stab at the spine of the lettuce leaf, tines sinking into the white, crunchy ridge, twisting the fork around, hesitating when you happen to overhear Tori's squawking. She's talking about staying back in the Black Box after school, asking Andre for a CD she apparently arranged for him to make. You don't care about that, what you do care about is that she's going to be alone after school. You're sick of this twisting in your gut every time you see her. You're sick of how happy she is. You want her smile to flicker when she sees you; you want to create a memory that'll always make her pause. But more than anything, you just want her, and you're sick of pushing it down only to have it spring up again, stronger than before.

You spend the rest of the day thinking about it; scripting it in your head, and it turns you on more than Beck's touches ever have. What would it be like to knock Vega down a peg? To clip her wings and tether her to the ground? You'd make her sing an altogether different tune, one that's breathy and punctuated with your name. You've been thinking about it since you met her, just never so actively, only in dreams and secret thoughts when your fingers slipped beneath your underwear to touch the very place that so badly wants her. And if what she does to you is the symptom, then Tori's the disease, and it's time to cure her once and for all, rather than just relieving your symptoms more and more often.

You say a distracted goodbye to Beck when the last bell chimes, unresisting as he pulls you to him, lips pressing to the side of your head, voice murmuring softly. You love Beck, you do. But it's not your hips that pull towards him, it's your heart, and the sooner you take care of this Vega problem, the sooner you can go back to loving Beck, to listening to your heart instead of your libido. You linger by your locker, index finger tracing over the blade of a pair of scissors glued on the door, waiting until the halls empty. Your footsteps echo as you walk, the heavy combat boots thudding on the linoleum. You can hear faint threads of music as you get close to the Black Box theatre, the soaring sound of Tori's voice joining it.

You push open one of the double doors, slipping in, and somehow Tori doesn't see you, turned away, sitting cross-legged in front of a CD player. The music cuts off suddenly, Tori sighing, running a hand through her hair. You lean against the wall, arms crossed, a slight smile on your lips as Tori mutters to herself, something about getting the melody right. You figure it's time you made an appearance, bringing your hands to clap slowly. "Beautiful, Vega."

She jumps, legs twisting on the stage, her arms flailing back to stop her falling. "J-Jade? How long have you been there?"

You tilt your head, walking towards her. "Long enough."

She stands, brunette hair swinging, and you can't help but admire the way her body moves. It's less than graceful, but it's raw, and her body curves so well, in all the right places. It makes your hands itch, watching her. "What are you doing here? Did you wanna watch?"

You almost laugh at that, eyes running over her, and you can see her shift uncomfortably, noticing. You don't bother to blinker yourself like you usually do, you don't look away or sink back into Beck and distract yourself with him. You let your eyes be like razors, slicing her clothes off to get to the skin underneath. "Oh, I've been watching you for a long time, Vega."

She licks her lips, turning away from you and hurriedly crossing to her bag, brown leather slumped in a chair by the wall.

"Ever since you got here, really." Your hand runs over the metal ridges of the chairs as you walk towards her, cold under your fingers. "And the whole time, I've thought one thing." You stop, body almost touching Tori's, and she backs away slightly, brows knitted together, bag rattling as she drops it back onto the chair. She exhales out of her mouth shakily as you draw even closer, chocolate eyes flicking over you. Your voice is quiet, but you know she can hear you perfectly. "What would it be like to fuck her?"

Tori's eyes widen, and you can hear her voice start in her throat, trying to form words, to say something to spill over her lips, but you're tired of her talking. You want to stop her protests before they even begin. It doesn't take much to push her back against the wall, to knock the breath from her and shake those words to pieces. You see her swallow hard, gaze darting from your eyes to your lips, and it makes you grin. She could easily push you away, and maybe it's fear, maybe it's curiosity, but her hands stay by her sides. It's so easy to kiss her; all it takes is a movement from you to close the gap, and then your lips are pressing against hers, suffocating whatever fragments of protest remained. You can feel her lips shaking, soft against yours, and she tastes just like mango. Your tongue runs out over her bottom lip, and the taste of her lipgloss fills your mouth even stronger, Tori gasping and pulling back. She finds her voice finally. "J-Jade... I-"

Your fingers play with the hem of her dark blue top, fingertips brushing her skin. You let your eyes flick down to them before returning to Tori's. "Do you want me to stop?"

She swallows hard, and you swear you can see her pulse pounding in her throat, see the conflict rippling in her face, and you decide to make it easier for her, bringing your lips to her neck. Her breath shudders out, and you were right; her heart's racing against your lips, a mile a minute, and it's gratifying. You're catching a glimpse of black feathers underneath all that bright plumage. You're hearing a caw in her song, and it fuels you on. "J-Jade..."

You pull your mouth away from her neck, the skin flushed and damp. You let your tongue run out over your lips, Tori's eyes following it. "W-why are you doing this?" She asks in a less than steady voice.

You tilt your head at her. This is how you wanted to see her; eyes wide, breath shaking. All that confidence stripped away, all that cheerfulness. You've cut her down to bone, and now it's time to carve your name into it. To snap those hollow bones and prevent her from ever flying again; forever weighed down by you. "Because I want to." To ruin something beautiful.

You kiss her again, mouth hard against hers, and she lets out a muffled noise that you sweep out of the way with your tongue, touching it to hers until she tentatively responds. And whatever her brain is telling her isn't strong enough, isn't enough to stop her reacting to your hands, tracing up her body to cup her breasts, thumbs flicking over her hard nipples. Tori's always been impulsive; it's made her do some stupid things, but she can't wriggle out of this like she can the others. You're pinning her down.

She arches into your hands, hips pushing into you, and you're ready for the nail and the magnet to finally snap together, because this is teasing you just as much as it is her. You've been thinking of doing this all day, having it run through your head, filled with fantasies you never let yourself indulge in until now, and you're ready to bring them to life. To rip away the cobwebs from this luscious body, and make this insect squirm.

You bite down on Tori's lip, a moan escaping her, and her skin is so hot, so smooth, your hand slipping under the hem of her top, finger tracing underneath the waistband of her denim shorts. And finally her hands come to life, fingers circling around your wrist, lips breaking away from yours. "Jade-" She pants, chest heaving, and you remind her where your other hand is with a soft squeeze. She bites her lip, eyes flickering shut for a moment. "Jade, I'm not sure..."

"Do you want me to?" Your voice is low, terse, and you shake her hand off your wrist, moving your hand to rub over the front of her shorts, slipping between her legs. She can't stop herself from instinctively parting them, hips trembling.

She exhales sharply, head thrown back, eyes shut, dark lashes matted, and you can see her pulse flickering in her throat; a flame you've fueled. "Y-yes, b-but-" Her voice dies, cut off by a soft shudder, and you take your hand away, moving it to undo the button to her shorts, tugging the zip down as she pants, body like a finely tuned string you're strumming, and you let your palm rest on the flat of her stomach for a moment before sliding down, pants undone. You press your body against her like you're trying to merge the two, like you want to feel her bones imprint your skin, feel every curve and memorise it. To be able to look at her and recall how it feels, so that you'll never need to do this again. To quell that urge in you that wants her. Your lips find her neck, teeth nipping at the hot, tan skin, and it only takes a moment for your fingers to slip underneath her panties, and then it's soft, hot velvet searing your hand, and you kill the moan that wants to escape you, silencing it in Tori's skin. Tori more than makes up for it, teeth sinking into her lip, sound bursting free from her, and you swear you can hear little fragments of swear words mixed in with your name, and it's the sweetest song you've ever heard.

Your fingers find her clit, flicking over it and making her jump, hands squeezing your shoulders as if to stop you, or beg you to keep going. To pull you closer and push you further away. She's stuck between what she wants to be and what she is, and you know deep down, she's a raven at heart, as black-hearted as you. She just hasn't accepted it yet. And you're filled with a sudden urge to break her, to peck her eyes out and make her see what she is, not what she wants to be. Your hand moves down further, slick and hot, fingers forcing their way into her brusquely. Tori stiffens against you, a strangled cry escaping her already fractured breath, nails clawing you, and a part of you hopes she breaks skin.

Something breaks in you, your fingers thrusting into her, Tori making your hand slick. This is what you needed, to kill this obsession, to release this urge. You need to be inside her, to imprint her brain, her heart, her lungs. You need her to think about you and feel ashamed. You need to make her no better than you, to sow a little seed of hate in her, so that when she sees you, she can't help but remember. So that her stomach turns when she recalls how you made her feel. To make her want that again until her feathers are jet black, until her voice is a hoarse caw that calls your name.

Tori's breath comes quicker, soft, short pants punctuated with snipped moans. Sounds she tries to control, and fails to do so. You rock your hand back and forth, to the point where you're not sure if it's passion or anger that's driving you. Her back arches off the wall, body stiffening, and your name splinters out of her mouth, muscles tightening around your fingers, around your heart. _Jade_. It makes you feel almost sick. You pull your hand out of her panties, wiping it on her shorts, Tori's head hanging, lips parted and panting, hands sliding off your shoulders when you break away from her. You don't want her anymore. She's a toy you've broken, but god did you enjoy playing with it. You've brought her down to your level. She's no better than you after all, and you turn to leave, making it a few steps.

Her voice calls out, hoarse, and you stop. "Jade... don't... don't tell anyone about this. Please?"

So she's still got some parrot in her after all. Maybe she'll repaint her feathers, and you can do this all over again. A grin spreads across your face. "Of course not. Birds of a feather, stick together."

Maybe you didn't break her bones, maybe all you did was clip her wings. Or maybe she really is better than you. Either way, you'll keep watching her, the memory of her etched in your skin. Ravens are scavengers, after all.

**A/N: Mindless smut. It makes the world go 'round. So please review, and keep the earth spinning.**


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